


Coming Back to You

by Phoenix_Soar



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Abuse Of Feels, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, It's a blurred line separating friendship and love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They shared their lives for so long and so deeply that he thought their very souls could become one and whole and never separate. But can they really?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for sujuexchange's Holiday Fanfic Exchange (2011-2012). I wrote this for followurdestiny @ LJ, who requested any (rare) Hangeng pairing.  
> From the five prompts she provided, I was able to incorporate three of them into the fic, which you can find in bold. 
> 
> Written in 2011, and originally posted at LJ and AFF.

 

_We were fifteen when we met.  
  
We were twenty-five when we parted.  
  
Ten long, slow years that passed at the pace of a turtle’s crawl, and yet ... when I look back on that single decade I had with you, time had never seemed to rush by as fast as it did then.  
  
Where have those years gone?  
  
I still remember.   
  
Every moment spent with you.  
  
Do you?_

~***~

He thinks, not for the first time, that if there is anything he will never forgive his father for, it is this.  
  
Who in their right mind moves their whole family to another country when they already have a beautifully adjusted life back home?  
  
Oh, right. His father. Expand your business to the neighbouring country, decide completely out-of-the-blue to handle that company branch personally, move your whole life there, and drag your unsuspecting family with you. Never mind that your wife has a job of her own or a teenage son in school with irreplaceable friends.  
  
Because businessman are tactless idiots like that.  
  
And if that is not gruelling enough, Hangeng has now found himself lost in the streets of Seoul, wandering about aimlessly, trying and failing to remember the route back to the bus station. It has been hard enough getting himself to his new school in one piece – even harder to communicate with his peers in his broken Korean – and now he cannot even make it back home.  
  
He sighs as he turns a corner only to come out onto another street that he does not recognise.  
  
He misses China.   
  
_I give up._  With a frustrated scowl, he stomps down the pavement to a wooden bench outside a convenience store and perches down on it, dropping his backpack beside him. Leaning back, he crosses one leg over the other and closes his eyes, allowing himself a futile daydream of being back home, surrounded by his childhood friends, eating the Beijing Fried Rice he is so proud of and loves to cook...  
  
‘I hate Korea.’  
  
‘Already? Give it a chance first, yeah?’  
  
His eyes snap open at the husky voice that has intruded on his thoughts. The first thing he notices is the smile. It is lopsided and crooked, with just a hint of teeth, set in a round face with deep-set dark eyes that are almost hidden behind a fringe of messy black hair. They twinkle with good-natured amusement as the stranger approaches the bench, clad in a uniform similar to Hangeng’s own and a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. His smile widens as he holds out something.  
  
‘Hangeng-ssi, right? You dropped this in the classroom.’  
  
Hangeng blinks, realising that he is staring. Reaching out, he accepts what he recognises as his school ID card. The other boy’s hand is surprisingly small, he notes, eyeing the child-like proportions of his palm and short fingers.  
  
Looking up to meet his gaze again, he sees that the strange boy is still smiling that same droopy smile, but his eyes are expectant now. Too late, Hangeng realises that he should thank him.  
  
‘Oh. Uh. Thanks,’ he says hastily, gripping the card tightly. It will be troublesome if he loses it and, rather belatedly, he truly appreciates the boy returning it to him. Then something the boy had said strikes him and Hangeng stares. ‘Wait ... in the classroom? But...’  
  
He fails to remember the correct Korean words to voice his surprise. If he had dropped the card in his class ... it had been a good thirty minutes since he left. Has this boy been following him all the way from school?  
  
The boy seems to understand his sudden apprehension. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just one of your classmates, not a stalker,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘I was going to return it to you tomorrow, but then I saw you on my way home, so ...’ He tilts his head slightly, which gives him a rather cute, puppy-ish look. ‘Are you lost?’  
  
Hangeng opens his mouth to ask how he knew, but then quickly shuts it, embarrassed. He has been wandering the roads, staring at street signs, struggling to understand the hangul and looking hopefully around every five seconds to spot any landmark familiar to him ... His predicament must have been obvious. He nods.  
  
A startling grin flashes across the stranger’s face. ‘How convenient. So am I,’ he exclaims happily, shrugging off his bag and plopping down on the other end of the bench.  
  
Taken aback, Hangeng stares at him – he has been staring quite a lot ever since this strange boy materialised in front of him – and asks, ‘You lost, too? Why that possible?’  
  
The boy is the first one who does not give him a condescending glare when he speaks in broken Korean, ever since he moved to this country. The grin on his face remains bright and genuine.  
  
‘Because I’m not from here, just like you.’ He laughs when the other blinks, somewhat confused.   
  
Silence ensues between them for a long minute, and it is both comfortable and awkward. Comfortable because the stranger seems completely at ease beside him, and awkward because Hangeng feels like he should be saying something, but can think of no words. It is unexpected and surprising when his companion suddenly leaps to his feet and holds out his hand to the other, an excited grin on his boyish features.  
  
‘Come on!’  
  
Hangeng eyes the small hand offered to him. ‘Where going?’  
  
**‘Let’s find some beautiful place to get lost.’**  
  
For a moment, neither of them moves. Hangeng gets an urge to point out that they are both already lost in this large, unfriendly city which seems to hold no beauty whatsoever. But the dark eyes fixed on him are warm and gentle, and the smile is bright and welcoming and something about this boy – maybe his openness or unconditional compassion – draws him in like nothing in Korea has. Without even realising it, Hangeng finds himself interlacing their fingers together, his long digits sliding against the other’s short ones in a perfect fit. Then the boy is tugging him forwards, an exhilarated laugh on his lips, and Hangeng takes the first step in many that will lead him to an irrevocable future with this boy who intruded on his life, his heart, to leave behind footprints that will never fade. A future that is short lasting and spans ten glorious years, becoming the crowning jewel of his life.  
  
The future that he falls for.  
  
He discovers the beauty of Seoul that day. He discovers beauty in the tall, glass and steel buildings that blur in his peripheral vision as they walk side by side down the pavement, elbows bumping and shoulders brushing together. He discovers beauty in the incessant roar of the traffic that fades away, drowned out by the husky baritone of the other’s voice that fills his ears like music. He discovers beauty in the sun-dappled stretch of blue sky overhead, which is nowhere near as wide or bright as the striking smiles his companion flashes at him.  
  
Beauty is right here, walking right beside him. And Hangeng loses himself in it.  
  
It is not until their directionless wandering, filled with his shy silence and the other boy’s uplifting chatter, brings them to the Han River that Hangeng finally recognises familiar structures and, ultimately, the way home. It amuses him when his acquaintance nods and comments that he, too, can find the subway from here now. Nevertheless, neither of them rushes to part ways and they continue their walk along the riverbank until the late afternoon sun dips lower and lower to meet the horizon, throwing haphazard splashes of gold, red and magenta onto the cloud formations above.   
  
The boy finally turns to him and, with a warm grasp of the hand, promises to meet him the next day and shouts a cheery farewell as he saunters away. With a smile he cannot quite hide, Hangeng takes off in the opposite direction. It is only after he has taken several steps that realisation strikes him. He does not even know who his new friend is.  
  
Turning back, he yells after the retreating boy, for once not self-conscious about his broken Korean, ‘Wait! What – name? You name?!’  
  
The boy turns around. Silhouetted against the reddening sky, a golden, heavenly halo glows around his figure. The Han River is behind him, shimmering under the fiery blaze of the setting sun, throwing his face into shadow, but nothing shines brighter than the unrestrained grin he shoots at Hangeng. His voice comes floating back to him, a low musical note in the peaceful evening air:  
  
‘Jongwoon.’

~***~

_In an unwelcoming place, surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces, you were my salvation. You came to me with warmth in your eyes and a smile on your face and friendship in your outstretched hand. You came to me so unconditionally and you drew me into your world and dragged me down until I drowned myself in you.  
  
You made me love.  
  
You made me love a new life I never wanted, a country my heart rejected, new friends I never thought I could accept.  
  
You made me love in every possible way and then love some more._

~***~

Hangeng remembers a roller coaster from his childhood, a wild ride at some inconsequential amusement park. It has been years, but he remembers it with vivid clarity because it is the most surprising one he has experienced. When you anticipate the sudden drop after the slow crawl uphill, it goes off sideways; and the second you let down your guard, disappointed, it drops steeply, almost in a freefall, making your heart leap to your throat and coaxing out the scream you were determined to hold in. Full of jolts that rattle your bones and sudden dips and twists you do not expect it to take, you never see the loop-the-loop coming. You realise it in the split second you are upside down, but before the thrill of it entirely grips you, the coaster has already born you away to another turn, another hill, another unforeseen twist that makes your heart hammer against your ribcage. And when you finally get off and look back at the monstrous ride, all you can think is,   
  
_What just happened?_  
  
The same feelings revisit Hangeng when Jongwoon bounces into his life.  
  
The second time they meet is in the classroom, which Hangeng enters without the trepidation and hesitance that had plagued him the previous day. His gaze roves over the faces, searching for the round one with the deep-set eyes and crooked smile, and immediately locates it by one of the windows.   
  
Jongwoon’s smile is as bright as it was yesterday and he beckons Hangeng to the empty seat next to him with a flick of his fingers. Something warm fills his heart and a thankful smile tugs at his lips as he obliges. Leaning his elbows onto the desk, Hangeng looks expectantly at Jongwoon, anticipating the conversation he will strike up as they wait for their teacher to arrive.  
  
It never happens.  
  
Jongwoon rests his head on his arms and looks at Hangeng with those warm, dark eyes that the latter has grown so familiar with, the perpetual smile still on his lips, but he does not say a word. Hangeng grows uneasy at first, wondering if his friend is waiting for him to start, but it does not feel like it. Jongwoon seems perfectly fine with the silence that has fallen between them.  
  
Strange, really, because his tongue was running a mile a minute only yesterday afternoon.  
  
Classes start and they begin their slow trawl through their studies and still Jongwoon does not speak. However, he sticks with Hangeng throughout the day, accompanying him at lunch and, during a free period, even gives him a quick tour of the huge school – and subsequently gets them lost somewhere along the way, because Jongwoon, Hangeng suddenly remembers, is apparently new here, too – and later end up laughing at themselves when a supervisor scolds them for not being in class. Jongwoon manages all these with minimum words, letting the name plaques on the doors and hallways do the speaking for him.   
  
At some point, Hangeng stops questioning how taciturn the other is being. Just like how their first extremely wordy meeting felt oddly natural, this silent endeavour feels normal, too. As if this is the way it should be, have always been.   
  
So unexpected, these feelings that Jongwoon evokes in him.   
  
The chatterbox-turned-mute is not the only unpredictable turn that the roller coaster that is Kim Jongwoon takes. As the days fade into weeks and weeks into months, Hangeng takes on the adventurous ride of learning the many fascinating sides of his first Korean friend.   
  
There are days when he is hyper and energetic, dragging Hangeng with him after school to arcades, malls, bowling alleys, billiards – where he always attempts the most challenging move or game and does not bat an eyelash when he fails (quite adorably, most of the time). Then there are days when he wants to talk, sometimes about the most trifling topics such as that one dream, in which his turtle Ddang-whatsit adopted some superhero alter-ego, saved the world from certain doom and flew off into the happy-ever-after sunset with his dog. Or at other times, emotional subjects like his family and how much he misses his grandparents who are back in Cheonan. And then there are days when he is quiet and pensive, which means long stretches of comfortable silence between him and Hangeng during school, or quiet walks along the riverbank as dusk falls upon them, or even instances when he shares his iPod earpieces with Hangeng so they can sit together and drown their minds in music. Ballads, rock, jazz, blues, soul...  
  
Hangeng never knows what side of Jongwoon to expect when they meet for the first time on a given day. It is something he looks forward to, with amusement and breathless anticipation, because his friend’s mood is what decides their adventure for the day.   
  
Years later, he will still remember and laugh at the memory of Jongwoon’s shocked face when a flash mob abruptly takes over a mall on a quiet Sunday and starts blaring old Michael Jackson classics. He can never forget the way Jongwoon’s disbelief instantaneously melts into manic enthusiasm, and how he bounds right into the midst of the dancers and starts doing the moves of Thriller all wrong, but with such gusto and passion that the dancers and onlookers all love him and cheer him on anyway.   
  
Being with Jongwoon is like a roller coaster ride that leaves Hangeng stunned, amused and breathless. But he never tires of it, never stops craving for more.  
  
The days are not always about Jongwoon, though Hangeng is so caught up with this amusing individual that it feels that way at times. Jongwoon often directs their conversations towards Hangeng as well, encouraging him to speak more. This proves to be a challenge because the latter is not fond of talking much, aware of how horrible his Korean speaking skills are despite being able to understand the language fluently enough.   
  
Jongwoon refuses to have it, though. ‘How can I know anything about you if you won’t tell me? Besides, practice makes perfect. Go on, tell me about China.’  
  
So Hangeng hesitantly begins to tell tales of his childhood, his father’s business which brought them all to South Korea, his mother’s kindness and love, growing up with old friends he had known since they were in nappies together. It feels odd to be the one speaking, because usually, Jongwoon is the one who does that; on his talkative days, he speaks enough for two people, making up for Hangeng’s accompanying silence.   
  
It feels nice, though. Jongwoon is a good listener and he takes in everything with genuine interest. When Hangeng stumbles over the hard Korean words or mispronounces, he corrects him simply and straightforwardly, without a hint of patronising in his tone. Hangeng appreciates that.  
  
Jongwoon is also the reason why Hangeng begins to interact with others more. Though he insists that he will be more than happy with only Jongwoon’s company, his friend shakes his head and tells him that it does not hurt to be sociable and have more friends.   
  
‘You might be surprised at how many people you could get along with,’ he tells Hangeng with a wink. ‘Us Koreans aren’t all bad, you know.’  
  
Later, Hangeng is thankful that he took Jongwoon up on his suggestion. With his friend coaxing at him to just go up and make small talk with other students, or just outright introducing him to people or Jongwoon’s own pals, Hangeng slowly begins to build up a circle of closely knit friends. He considers himself lucky in that most of them are his and Jongwoon’s mutual acquaintances, such as people like Jungsu, Heechul, Youngwoon and Siwon.   
  
There are times when Hangeng and Jongwoon hang out separately with their own buddies, but in the end, the two of them always come together, no gap ever appearing in their friendship. There is the same closeness, the same intimacy.   
  
Hangeng is glad for that; glad for the thought that nothing can ever come between them.  
  
Because, as the years roll by, he slowly begins to realise that Jongwoon is the one person he can never look away from. His are the eyes that Hangeng automatically seeks in a crowd, the smile that brightens his days, the hands that keep him steady when he stumbles.   
  
With every up and down of life, it is always Jongwoon that Hangeng keeps coming back to. 

~***~

_We shared everything together, didn’t we, you and I?  
  
We shared our friendship, our stories, our time, our hopes and dreams.  
  
We shared our lives for so long and so deeply that our very souls became entangled, intertwining with each other so intricately that I thought they could become one and whole and never separate._

~***~

It is surprising how you can always learn something new about someone you thought you knew inside and out.  
  
Graduation day arrives. Robes are worn, diplomas received, caps thrown to the winds and photographs snapped by proud, sobbing parents. And then Jongwoon disappears from the scene.  
  
Hangeng stalks down the school hallways, half-listening to the muffled sounds of students, teachers and parents out on the campus as he looks around, taking in the classrooms he is seeing for the last time before leaving his high school forever. He keeps a lookout for his missing friend, listening for footfalls or a familiar baritone voice that may come floating down one of the empty corridors.  
  
It takes more than twenty minutes, but he finally finds his best friend in the unlikeliest place: the music room, which Hangeng cannot remember Jongwoon ever having set foot in before.  
  
He is sitting at the pianoforte, still wearing his graduation robes, one hand resting on the black polished surface as he stares unseeingly into space. He looks around and flashes his customary dazzling smile when he hears Hangeng’s not very subtle entrance.  
  
‘Am I missed?’ He asks jokingly before the other can even catch his breath.  
  
Hangeng scoffs. ‘Why would anyone miss  _you_?’   
  
They exchange playfully challenging smiles before Hangeng moves to sit on one of the chairs, carefully placing his diploma on a nearby table. ‘So, why are you hiding in here, Jongwoonie?’  
  
Jongwoon lets his fingers graze over the piano keys. ‘I got in, Geng ... College. My first choice. I can’t believe it.’  
  
Hangeng stares. And then he is pouncing on Jongwoon, dragging him to his feet and crushing the smaller man in his arms, almost dancing in a circle as he happily sings his congratulations. His friend laughs loud and heartily as he struggles for freedom.   
  
‘Why are you happier than me?’ He says, grinning.  
  
‘I’m not. That’s called acting,’ Hangeng snorts, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  
  
‘Oh right, you once mentioned you wanted to be an actor,’ Jongwoon remarks, sitting down on the bench again.  
  
‘Mostly dancing,’ Hangeng corrects, plopping down beside him. ‘Acting’s second choice. I’d rather open my own dance studio or be a choreographer. But seriously, Woonie, congratulations. I’m so happy for you. And now that you’ve told me your good news,’ he adds, looking excitedly at Jongwoon, ‘let me tell you mine. I was saving it for a good time.’  
  
The other man returns his gaze with wide eyes, anticipation dancing in their black depths.  
  
‘My dream career is about to come true! I got in, too, Jongwoon. Korea National University of Arts – I’m going to be a professional dancer!’  
  
The congratulations sticks in Jongwoon’s throat and he gapes at Hangeng, mouth slightly open. This is not the reaction Hangeng has been expecting and his face falls. ‘What’s wrong?’  
  
‘The University of Arts?’ Jongwoon repeats incredulously. His face then splits into a sudden grin. ‘Goodness, Geng, that’s where I’m going!’  
  
‘What?’ And Hangeng finds himself enveloped in his best friend’s arms again. He laughs, half surprised and half confused. ‘Wait, seriously? But, why there? What are you going to be?’  
  
The smile that curves Jongwoon’s lips is the most beautiful one Hangeng has ever laid eyes on so far. His dark eyes grow hazy and Hangeng swears he emits some sort of radiant aura as he answers, his voice quiet and overflowing with passion,   
  
‘A singer and composer.’  
  
In that moment, something heavy seems to strike Hangeng right in his chest. His breath catches in his throat and he looks at Jongwoon – really looks at him – realising that this is a part of his best friend that has never been exposed to him before. He has never heard about this, this plan, this dream. Singing and composing music – this is something he has had absolutely no idea about before this very moment. He feels a strange tightening in his chest as it sinks in that there are still secrets that Jongwoon harbours in his heart, bits and pieces of him that Hangeng does not know; a part of his soul that belongs only to Jongwoon and which Hangeng is not allowed to see or touch.   
  
For a reason he cannot fathom, he does not like that idea.  
  
‘I never knew you could sing,’ he finally ventures in a low voice. ‘You weren’t in the music club. Nor the choir.’  
  
‘I never sang at school,’ Jongwoon agrees with a nod. ‘I couldn’t; I didn’t like the idea of being judged by teachers or friends. I only sang for fun, as a hobby, at home. I listen to all kinds of music and learn the words and just sing in front of the TV ... My mother has always told me that I sing better than most of the idols that come on, but I tell her she’s biased,’ he adds with a laugh. ‘But when I thought about finishing school and choosing a career ... I realised that singing is the one thing that I really enjoy. I don’t want to go into science or business.’  
  
Hangeng takes all this in carefully. ‘Why not? Your grades are always brilliant. Better than mine...’  
  
Jongwoon shoots him that familiar crooked smile. ‘I studied hard here to make my father happy, Geng. I want to do well in college for myself now.’  
  
‘So ... a singer?’  
  
Jongwoon nods. ‘I know I don’t have extra credit because I wasn’t in choir or anything, but thankfully, they let me do an audition and I passed. I figure, if I am good enough to get through that, I can make it all the way to the top...’  
  
Hangeng gives him a long look. ‘You never told me about your singing.’  
  
‘You never asked about my future.’  
  
That simple truth hits him like a hammer between the eyes. It is true, he thinks, breath hitching again. He has never asked, not once. He has always known he will be a dancer, but he has never really given much thought to their future, Jongwoon’s future. He has always lived in the present, unconsciously assuming that things will always be this way – because the present has Jongwoon beside him and he cannot imagine it any other way. He cannot envision a future, a career, a life in which Jongwoon is not there. It is impossible, because he wants – needs – Jongwoon to be there. His best friend has become a necessity in his life, a very part of him. It is as simple as that.  
  
He looks up to see Jongwoon smiling at him and the apology that is crawling up his throat dies. He can tell from the warmth in his dark eyes that Jongwoon does not need to hear it.  
  
Instead, Hangeng requests, ‘Will you sing for me?’  
  
‘Will you dance for me?’  
  
Hangeng blinks and Jongwoon flicks him on the forehead with a giggle. ‘You keep bragging about being a professional dancer, but I’ve never seen you bust a move.’ When Hangeng simply stares, he adds more seriously, ‘Dance for me, Geng. Then I will sing for you.’  
  
He breathes in slowly, losing himself momentarily in the black eyes gazing into his own. Then something unfurls in his chest and he stands up with a sudden grin, feeling a familiar burst of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He shrugs out of his robes.   
  
‘All right, then.’ He walks over to the stereo system on the other side of the room. ‘Be prepared to pick your jaw off the ground.’  
  
He deliberately chooses a song mix that has a slow intro. Standing in the middle of the room, he closes his eyes and lifts his arms, waiting for the music to start. The first notes reach his ears, soft and chiming; he imagines them sinking into his body, his heart, blending with his blood and flowing along every artery and vein, filling his body with the melody, from the tips of his extended fingers to his curled toes. He allows it to saturate him until music is the only thing he is hearing, feeling, and breathing. Then he begins to move.  
  
The tune guides his limbs, directing how to curl, how to extend, how to twist and flaunt, almost without his conscious control. His body knows this; it comes to him more naturally than breathing and he keeps his eyes closed as he dances out a combination of fluid and calculated moves that accompany every rise and fall of the melody. The transition is both sudden, yet smooth when the slow intro gives way to an upbeat dance rhythm and his body falls into the tempo without a hitch. Fluttering fingers, gyrating hips, popping chest, liquid arm movements and skilled footwork – this is Hangeng, this is what he is born to do and he drowns in the cadence.  
  
The song is coming to a close and his eyes flutter open, preparing to shoot a triumphant grin at his one-man audience, but the sight that welcomes him causes him to cease breathing and he stumbles. The music ends, but he cannot care that he screwed up his last move because Jongwoon has long since left the pianoforte and has been circling him the whole time, arms folded and dark eyes intense as he observed Hangeng’s every move. He is standing in front of him now, barely five feet away, and he does not bring his hands together to applaud, but the curving of his lips and the sheer awe and admiration that glosses over his eyes is more heartening than any standing ovation Hangeng can wish for.  
  
Blood rushes to his face, partly from pleasure and partly from embarrassment that Jongwoon has been observing him so closely, from every angle. There is no room for words, though, because Jongwoon then heads back to the piano to fulfil his part of the bargain and Hangeng follows, taking a seat beside him.   
  
He watches, fascinated, as Jongwoon closes his eyes for several seconds, as if trying to recall something, and then lays his fingers over the ivory keys. He remembers the old sayings about a pianist’s fingers: long and slender, they are said to be. Jongwoon’s fingers are short and child-like, but next moment, when they fly over the keys with the confidence and precision of a practised player, Hangeng is convinced that no other hand can be more suited to caress this instrument to coax beautiful melodies from it.  
  
The spell Jongwoon’s piano playing has cast on him breaks soon, however, as he opens his mouth. The first words of the songs escapes his lips and Hangeng forgets to breathe, all thoughts coming to a halt as he locks his wide eyes on the man beside him.   
  
He has always secretly admired Jongwoon’s voice; deep, baritone and husky, like a rumble low in one’s chest – hardly suiting his boyish face, but beautiful all the same. But  _this_. He has never heard anything like this before. It is powerful, his singing. Hoarse and powerful, and overflowing with passion and raw, fervent emotions that reach down into Hangeng’s soul to tug at his heartstrings, making his very blood boil and sing along with it. The low parts of the song sound like a growl that emerges from the very depths of Jongwoon’s lungs, which are in sharp contrast to the high octaves he belts out immediately afterwards, throwing his head back so that the pale skin is pulled tight over his trembling Adam’s apple and the veins in his neck stand out, angry and exquisite. The song is heartrending and the lyrics harsh and Jongwoon sings of heartbreak and wasted love with a brutal ardour and fury that shakes Hangeng’s very core.  
  
He holds the last note of the song until Hangeng feels himself becoming breathless and cuts his voice at the last moment with a fierce resignation, breathing hard and teary-eyed from the gruelling emotions he is wrecked with. His fingers fly over the piano keys and stop, bringing the song to a halt and silence reigns in the room, sudden and ringing.  
  
A minute passes before Jongwoon lifts his gaze to Hangeng’s eyes and they simply share a long, calculating look, both sizing up these hidden talents they have found in each other. Then,  
  
‘Teach me to sing like you.’  
  
‘Teach me to dance like you.’  
  
And they burst into rather breathless laughter.  
  
Hangeng leans against him, still chuckling. He looks at Jongwoon with bright eyes and, for the millionth time, ponders on how different they are; how opposite. Personalities, looks, talents. But they complement each other; cancel out each other’s weaknesses and flaws with a delicate balance that exists just between them. He smiles and lets his head rest on Jongwoon’s shoulder, closing his eyes, revelling in the echoes of his beautiful voice that is still reverberating in his ears. He thinks he can sleep forever as long as that voice is there, singing soft lullabies just for him. He can dance to that voice; his body has already come alive at the thought, aching to move. It feels just right – that Jongwoon sings while he dances. A perfect fit. He can dance to that voice, to that song, to Jongwoon. For Jongwoon.  
  
‘So ...’ Jongwoon murmurs at length. ‘We’ll still be together then. Same college.’  
  
Hangeng smiles at the thought. ‘Still together,’ he repeats and the phrase sends happiness shooting through him.   
  
‘Must be fate,’ jokes the other with a light laugh and Hangeng rolls his eyes. He does not believe in fate or destiny, but if it is with Jongwoon ... well, that he can live with, he thinks with a grin.  
  
‘Because we’re meant to be,’ he humours him. ‘You’re mine and only mine.’  
  
Jongwoon lets out a hearty guffaw and shoves him.   
  
Hangeng does not miss the heated blush that graces his cheeks, though. The sight of it makes him ridiculously happy for some reason.  
  
Later that year, just before they enter college, Hangeng buys Jongwoon a birthday present.  
  
**‘A special gift for someone special,’**  he tells him warmly and revels in the joyous look that spreads across Jongwoon’s face when he unwraps the silver chain with the small, platinum headphones dangling from it.  
  
‘A good luck charm,’ Hangeng explains with a wink, ‘for you to reach your dream of being a singer.’  
  
Jongwoon laughs and throws his arms around his neck.  
  
The favour is returned on Hangeng’s birthday and pure, unadulterated shock diffuses across his features as he holds up a pair of pale pink ballet shoes in one hand, and a frilled  _translucent_  tutu in the other.  
  
‘Good luck charms,’ Jongwoon smirks at him, ‘for you to reach your dream of opening a dance studio for all the little ladies out there.’  
  
Hangeng chases Jongwoon all the way to a park, yelling and laughing and protesting, until they collapse side by side on the grass, gasping for breath and still throwing feeble punches at each other. They lie together for a long time in comfortable silence, occasionally punctuated by a random chuckle, until Jongwoon pulls Hangeng to his feet and leads him to his family’s homely little cafe, where both their parents, Jongwoon’s younger brother, and old friends from school like Jungsu, Heechul, Youngwoon and Siwon are waiting with an enormous cake and presents. Hangeng almost sobs with happiness when they envelop him in their arms and wish him bliss and forces him to eat more cake than he has in years and rubs the frosting on his face when he refuses to eat a seventh slice.  
  
There is laughter and music and merriment, and there are his family and friends, and most importantly, there is Jongwoon beside him, all smiles and happiness and Hangeng thinks that this is where he wants to be forever. This is perfection.  
  
This is home.

~***~

_Whenever I was with you, perfection existed. Even if you were with me for only a second, perfection existed for that one, single moment.  
  
Because you were home.  
  
But that home did not last, did it?  
  
Our souls, so entwined together and so firmly bonded that I thought they could never separate – in the end, they could not become one, could they?_


	2. To You

His world – his home – begins to crumble at the prime of their youth and friendship. Only, he does not realise it at the beginning.  
  
They are close to graduating now and Jongwoon has already struck his gold, catching the notice of a talent scout and debuting as a ballad singer by the stage name of Yesung within months of signing into the company. Hangeng attends each one of his debut performances and is not embarrassed to scream louder than any fangirl present, clapping until his palms are red and cheering on his best friend of whom is so proud and feels so happy for. Jongwoon grins dazzlingly at the end of each song, as if he knows Hangeng is there, and the latter feels like his heart will burst when he sees how Jongwoon’s dream has become a reality. His stomach flutters happily whenever he sees the headphone necklace he gave Jongwoon years ago, resting against his chest, in plain view for the entire world to see; he has never taken it off.  
  
Then their university studies end, life swings them forward at full force and a couple of years later, Hangeng is a dance instructor on the verge of realising his own dream of opening a dance studio when Jongwoon comes over to his apartment one day, eyes downcast.  
  
‘Geng, I’m going back to Cheonan.’  
  
‘What?’ Hangeng is sure his ears are deceiving him.   
  
‘Cheonan,’ Jongwoon repeats forlornly. ‘My grandma, she ... Grandpa just called my parents. She had a seizure. The doctors suspect a brain tumour.’  
  
Hangeng does not know what to say. He remembers that Jongwoon often mentions his grandparents during their long talks, and how much he loves and misses them.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ he finally whispers.  
  
Jongwoon nods vigorously, his eyes suspiciously bright as if he is fighting back tears. After a couple of deep breaths, he explains that he and his family will be going back to take care of his grandmother and her medical finances and stay with her for a while.  
  
‘When she’s a bit better, we’re thinking of bringing them to Seoul. The hospitals here are far more advanced.’  
  
Hangeng nods silently. Somewhere deep inside, relief washes over him. He has feared that when Jongwoon said he is going back, he is leaving Seoul forever. Leaving Hangeng forever.  
  
‘Look after Ddangkoma and Kkoming for me till I come back?’  
  
‘You can count on me.’  
  
Jongwoon smiles gratefully at him and leaves, and Hangeng wishes he can drag him back and hold him close, that he can make everything OK again. Those watery, scared smiles do not belong on Jongwoon’s face. They are supposed to be lopsided, bright and stunning like they used to be.  
  
Jongwoon leaves that night itself and Hangeng finds himself pacing back and forth in his apartment, an inexplicable trepidation settling over him. He tells himself that everything will be fine, that Jongwoon will be safe and OK and come back in good health, but his heart feels heavy and he cannot shake off the feeling that something has been set in motion that will change everything. He cannot help but feel that his whole world is about to fall apart.   
  
His fears are confirmed after Jongwoon returns more than two months later, bringing his family and grandparents back to Seoul. Hangeng keeps them company and offers Jongwoon support as they take his grandmother to the hospital for chemotherapy and more treatments. Jongwoon leans into him after the doctors have wheeled her inside, looking exhausted and terrified.   
  
‘They said the tumour will continue to grow,’ he whispers, his voice trembling. ‘They said it is in a location in the brain which makes it impossible to remove it by surgery. There is little possibility of destroying it with radiation. They said she might not have more than a year left.’  
  
‘Hush,’ Hangeng murmurs, wrapping the smaller man in his arms and stroking his back comfortingly. ‘Don’t give up hope, Jongwoonie. Not so soon.’  
  
Jongwoon just sighs and buries his face in Hangeng’s shoulder, letting the silent tears fall.  
  
Hangeng admires his bravery and courage in that Jongwoon can balance his family life with work. He returns to singing with iron-willed determination, saying that he knows his grandmother will want them all to continue their lives and not give up on fulfilling their responsibilities (‘And we also do need the money,’ adds Jongwoon wryly). The remaining time he spends mostly at the hospital, keeping his grandmother company and telling her light hearted stories, like the tug-of-war between his turtle and dog over a towel, to cheer her up. Often, Hangeng joins them whenever he can and together, they make up a merry atmosphere, keeping away the grim topics of cancer and chemotherapy outside their happy little bubble.  
  
Throughout all this, Hangeng comes to notice that Jongwoon remains troubled by something; something other than his grandmother’s condition. He patiently waits for his friend to open up, because he knows that when Jongwoon is ready, he will come to him on his own.  
  
But when he does, Hangeng wishes that he can make a tear in the space-time continuum so that their subsequent conversation can never, not in a million years, take place again.  
  
‘Geng ... Grandma’s been talking about death lately.’  
  
Hangeng chokes on his coffee. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he looks at Jongwoon across the table. They are in Jongwoon’s parents’ cafe, taking a break from their hectic schedules. There are no other customers this late at night and the warm atmosphere suddenly feels chilling and oppressive.  
  
‘She keeps saying she’s not ready to leave us, Jongjin and I,’ Jongwoon continues softly, casting a glance at the counter to make sure his little brother is not within earshot. ‘That ... she wants to see us – me, at the very least – settled and happy before she dies...’  
  
Something seems to have cut off Hangeng’s airway. He feels an invisible hand tightening around his throat and his hands are growing cold and clammy. He knows where this is going – but every fibre of his being fights against it, because it cannot happen; it just  _cannot happen_.  
  
‘What does that mean? “Settled and happy”...?’  _Please, please, don’t let it be..._  
  
Jongwoon gives him a look, as if demanding why Hangeng is forcing him to answer that question when he already knows the answer. ‘You know...’  
  
_No, please..._  
  
‘... like, my meeting a girl –’  
  
_No, stop..._  
  
‘– and – and ... like, getting m-married –’  
  
_Please, stop. Enough ..._  
  
‘... She wants grandkids, Geng. She wants to see my children before she leaves us.’  
  
And that is all it takes for Hangeng’s world to disappear, to shatter around him into irreparable pieces, just like his heart and home – because Jongwoon is his world. He has his heart and he is his home and Hangeng has just lost his everything. He knows he has, because Jongwoon – beautiful, kind-hearted, filial Jongwoon – will never turn down such a wish from anyone in his family, especially his dying grandmother whom he adores. He will go through with it, he will do anything to make her last wish a reality, and in the process, he will have no choice but to leave Hangeng behind and Hangeng already knows this. But he still has to ask. He knows he is being a fool for allowing himself a tiny ray of hope that he knows will not yield any miracles, but he still asks.  
  
‘And? What are you going to do?’  
  
Jongwoon’s eyes have never looked so tormented, so apologetic, so haunted. ‘The doctors have guaranteed us now that her life expectancy is no longer than twelve months ... Mother has already set me up on a blind date for tomorrow night.’  
  
The words are like a knife blade that slices Hangeng’s last ray of hope in two and he pushes away from the table, away from Jongwoon. He runs away, eyes blinded by more than just tears, and he hears Jongwoon’s voice calling his name from behind and he just runs and runs.  
  
There is no turning back.   


~***~  


_My whole world vanished and there was nothing I could do to get it back._  
  
_I wonder, though ... was it really mine in the first place?_  
  
_We used to joke around, saying we were fated to be together. That you were mine and mine alone._  
  
_But did you ever really belong to me?_  


~***~  


Hangeng sobs his heart out on the first shoulder he comes across, which happens to be the one belonging to Heechul. The effeminate man looks surprised when his old classmate appears in his doorway after midnight, his face tortured and tear-stained, but he does not complain. Leading him inside, he lets Hangeng cry all he wants without interrupting, and Hangeng thinks he has never been more grateful for taking Jongwoon’s advice in school and making other friends while he could. On this night when he cannot turn to Jongwoon like he always does, it is comforting to have another person in whose embrace he can seek comfort.  
  
When his teas finally dry out and his whimpers subside, Heechul finally eases away to look him in the eyes. ‘Will you tell me now who did this to you?’  
  
Hangeng does not ask how Heechul knows that he is such a wreck because of a person. In fact, he does not mean to talk at all. But the words appear on the tip of his tongue out of nowhere and, before he knows it, he is talking, spilling everything that has happened and every raw emotion that is tearing him apart inside and out. Heechul listens expressionlessly, his eyes alert and attentive, until at the end where they widen in blatant surprise.  
  
‘So ... our old Jongwoonie is preparing to get married?’  
  
Hangeng nods, feeling numb and hollow.  _Married. Jongwoon is going to get married._  
  
‘And you’re like this because of that ...’ Heechul murmurs softly. He gives him a look. ‘Hangeng, tell me honestly ... are you in love with Jongwoon?’  
  
The question feels like an arrow to his heart, which stops beating for a moment. Hangeng blinks at Heechul, overwhelmed and speechless.  
  
‘I ... I don’t know,’ he whispers.   
  
He has never thought of his relationship with Jongwoon like that, in terms of feelings or sentiments. He has only known that he and Jongwoon just  _are_. The man was with him at the very beginning of his life in Korea, and he has stuck around since, being a brother, a best friend, a tutor, a confidante, a guide, a mother-hen – whatever he deems that Hangeng needs him to be. Jongwoon has taught him so much, opened his eyes to so many new experiences, shown him beauty in places and things he never imagined; he has given him so much, to the extent that Hangeng has always felt that this new life he began in this country is something he owed all to Jongwoon. The man with the crooked smile and the baritone voice has become such an integral part of him that he simply cannot imagine his life without the other now. It has always been Hangeng and Jongwoon, and that is how he has always envisioned it would be. Hangeng and Jongwoon, walking side by side and overcoming all the obstacles in their path with heads held high, together. Just like always.   
  
Because Jongwoon is Hangeng’s and Hangeng is Jongwoon’s. That is the way it has always been.   
  
Not anymore, though. Now Jongwoon is going to be someone else’s. He will belong to some nameless woman, he will build the rest of his life with her and, the moment he says ‘I do’, he will cease to be Hangeng’s Jongwoon.  
  
And that is a thought that he simply cannot take. That is why he ran away; because, right to the very end,  _Hangeng_  will still be Jongwoon’s, because Jongwoon is home, and home is where the heart is and Hangeng’s heart has never been elsewhere. No one else can even hope to replace Jongwoon as Hangeng’s entire world.  
  
Heechul nudges him, bringing him back to the present and making him realise that the other man is still awaiting a response.  
  
‘I don’t know,’ he repeats, a bit more strongly and his voice comes out coarse and bitter. ‘I’ve never thought of that. I just ... I just know that I’m losing him. I’ve already lost him, because Jongwoon will do it; there is no question of that. He – he is not mine anymore,’ his voice breaks as he says the words, ‘he’s left me and I – I’m lost. That’s all I know. Without him, I just ... I can’t ...’   
  
Heechul looks wordlessly at him, eyes unreadable and face void of pity for which Hangeng is glad, and just grips his forearm briefly. ‘This is between you two, Hangeng,’ he says quietly. ‘I can’t solve this for you. Don’t avoid it. You need to talk with Jongwoon about this.’  
  
Hangeng looks up, horrified and protesting, but Heechul shakes his head. ‘Figure out your feelings and talk to Jongwoon, Geng. If there is one thing I know from spending time with you two weirdos in school, it’s that Jongwoon treasures you.’ He smiles slightly at the dawning look on Hangeng’s face. ‘Perhaps even more than you cherish him. Stop running.’  
  
Heechul’s words stick with him over the next few weeks, but Hangeng cannot bring himself to face Jongwoon yet. The hurt and pain are too raw, too real still. The missed calls and messages pile up and Hangeng avoids appearing at any place where the other is likely to show up. He stops visiting Jongwoon’s parents’ cafe at which he is pretty much a regular, stays out of his apartment the whole day and visits Jongwoon’s grandmother at the hospital only at times when he knows that his friend has work. Avoiding him is not that hard, either, because Jongwoon is not the clingy type and after the first few days, he simply stops trying to contact him, knowing that Hangeng needs time and space for now.   
  
Hangeng tries not to think about how he is still finding more and more qualities about Jongwoon to admire and love.  
  
He concentrates on his work for the next couple of months, dancing and choreographing and teaching. The hard physical exercise helps to relieve his pain somewhat and he lets the tempo of his beloved music carry him away to other worlds, where these pain and hurt and unwanted feelings do not exist; or where Jongwoon is still with him, still  _his_ , with dark eyes twinkling and smile dazzling.  
  
Jongwoon is like his sun, all fiery and bright and aglow, and Hangeng’s everything revolves around him, hopelessly drawn into that orbit from which he cannot escape. But they can never come closer than that; they cannot touch, never be one.   
  
This reality is driven harshly into his mind when he chances upon Jongwoon’s younger brother one day. Jongjin greets him with a stunning smile, so alike to his brother’s, and happily relates the news that, several weeks ago, his mother had finally brought home a girl that everyone can approve of. Jongwoon said yes, his parents and grandparents are ecstatic, and they are to be engaged within three days.  
  
That night, Hangeng locks himself up in the dance practice room, turns the stereo all the way up, and drowns himself in the ferocious beat until his legs give out and he collapses to the ground, body aching and heart wrenching and his vision blurred by tears he has not thought he can shed anymore. He does not return home that night.  
  
Just when he thinks he wants to give up, that he does not want to see Jongwoon ever again – because, honestly, he has no confidence at all that his heart can bear the sight of those dark eyes which no longer belong to him – salvation finds him in the form of a phone call from his father. He informs him that he is leaving for China with Hangeng’s mother to take care of a small problem that occurred in his company’s main branch, and would Hangeng like to come along, too?   
  
‘It’s been so long since we visited your aunts and uncles and cousins, after all,’ says his father over the line with a light laugh.  
  
‘Yes!’ Hangeng jumps at the chance. He needs this. He needs to get away from Korea, this life, Jongwoon. He needs to leave.  
  
Maybe he can find some part of himself again – the self he lost along with Jongwoon – that is still lingering in the country of his birth and childhood.   
  
He wonders if he will come back.  
  
He finally calls up Jongwoon on the eve of his departure and tells him the news in clipped tones that sound formal and unnatural even to him. Jongwoon listens to him in silence.  
  
‘I’ll see you at the airport,’ he says simply and hangs up.  
  
Hangeng cannot remember dreading a meeting more.  
  
He is almost hyperventilating as the time to face Jongwoon for the first time in two months comes around, but all such thoughts fly out of his mind when he finally spots the other man approaching him across the Incheon terminal. Hangeng stares, his throat going dry; he stares at the calm dark eyes, the tiny lopsided smile and the messy black hair which he has not seen in what seems like a lifetime and just then, all he wants is to collapse into Jongwoon’s arms and drown in his warmth and scent. How has he managed to stay away for so long?  
  
Then his eyes catch sight of a sudden glint and his gaze drops to lock on the silver engagement band that adorns the ring finger of Jongwoon’s left hand. His heart skips a beat. Oh. That’s why.  
  
Jongwoon comes to a stop right in front of him, his eyes searching Hangeng’s face for something the other does not know. Hangeng is frozen, unable to tear his gaze away, despite the redness he can feel on his cheeks and the lump that forms in his throat. He wonders how to break the silence, the tension that has developed between them, and thinks that maybe he should start with an apology. An apology for running away, staying away, and finally leaving like this. He knows he is not the only one hurting, the only one abandoned; he has hurt Jongwoon, too, and in a way, abandoned him as well.  
  
But before the words can leave his mouth, Jongwoon speaks up, ‘No, Geng. You don’t have to explain. I know why you did it. I’ve always known.’  
  
Hangeng feels like time has stopped. Jongwoon knows? He knows how he feels, how he sees Jongwoon?  
  
The smile that quirks the other’s lips is soft and sad. ‘And I’ve always looked at you the same. Were I in your position that night, I would’ve reacted no differently.’  
  
He cannot breathe anymore. There is a thudding in his chest and he feels faint and disoriented. Jongwoon feels the same? He sees Hangeng the same way? As someone incomparable, irreplaceable? Someone that makes up his whole word?  
  
Jongwoon releases a shaky breath. ‘But you know what things are like, Geng. You know this ... it can’t ... we can’t ...’  
  
Yes, he knows. He knows things cannot be the way he dreams that to be. He knows Jongwoon has an obligation to his family. He knows Jongwoon will always be the sun around which he revolves, the centre of his universe, but never can Jongwoon be within his reach. He  _knows_ , damn it, and it is that what is tearing him apart from the very core of his heart.  
  
Jongwoon steps closer to him, eyes dark and intense.  **‘You’ve always been this possibility for me,’**  he continues. **‘This wonderful possibility, but it’s just not right. And I’m so sorry. I need you to know that you’re the man I wanted to want.’**  
  
Hangeng thinks that he will break, right now, right on this spot, even more so when Jongwoon takes his face in both his hands – his engagement ring feels cold and harsh against his heated skin – and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before enveloping him in his arms, clutching him tight and close, as if holding him together.  
  
‘You’re my best friend, Geng,’ Jongwoon whispers in his ear, and his breath is warm and heady on his neck. ‘You will always be the most precious and important friend to me and I love you.’  
  
And then he breaks, the tears breaking past the dam he has built behind his eyes, and he clings to Jongwoon, burying his face in his shoulder and repeating the words back to him, over and over again. They stay like that, holding each other, unwilling to let go until the announcements for the last check-ins sound out and Hangeng finally draws away, trembling and breathing shakily. Jongwoon holds onto his hand, preventing him from leaving.  
  
‘You will come back, Geng?’ he whispers.   
  
Hangeng looks into the dark eyes, which are scared and desperate, and sees a vision. A vision of Jongwoon at the altar, angelic in a black tuxedo, and holding his arm out to a beautiful woman in a white bride gown, while Hangeng watches from the side – the best man, bearing the wedding rings, giving away his world to someone else. The vision fades and Jongwoon is still staring at him, pleading and anxious.  
  
The lie comes all too easily to his lips. ‘Yes.’  
  
Then their hands are falling apart and Hangeng turns his back on him, walking away, wondering if he will ever be able to find himself again.  


~***~  


_We were fifteen when we met._  
  
_We were twenty-five when we parted._  
  
_Ten long years that were as beautiful as they were painful. Ten years I cherished above anything else and yet longed so much to forget. Ten years I could never regret, despite everything._  
  
_Are you happy with your life now? Are you blissful with your family?_  
  
_Do you hate me? For breaking my promise? Have you ever forgiven me?_  


~***~  


Hangeng stares at the slip of paper in his hands. The phone number scrawled on it taunts him, drawing him in with the promise of reunion, yet terrifying him because it is the thing he has been running from since he was twenty five.  
  
Sighing, he drops his hand and looks back at the television. The Korean music programme has long been over, but he can still see the image clearly in his mind’s eye. Yesung, dressed in black and face overwhelmed by emotions as he sings his heart out into the mic, the husky baritone of his voice still as gorgeous as always with the power to make the hearts of the listeners sing and dance. It has been five years to the day since their farewell and he has not changed. The twinkling dark eyes are still the same, the crooked smile still just as dazzling and his beauty has only increased with age.  
  
And Hangeng had seen a platinum headphone necklace hanging around his neck, swinging from side to side as he walked around the stage. At the end of the song, Yesung had kissed it.   
  
Hangeng holds up the paper again. It has been five years since he came back to China and tried to move on. Five years during which he became an established choreographer with his own dance studio. Five years during which Jongwoon has advanced far ahead in his career, became a married man, mourned the passing of his grandmother and fathered a son. Hangeng had cried – whether from happiness or something else, he is not sure – when he first heard the news: Jongwoon had named his boy Hankyung.  
  
It has been five long years and the wounds have healed and the scars that remain do not hurt as much anymore. Hangeng had considered just lettings thing be, but all this time, he has always kept up with the news of Jongwoon through his performances and websites. He has never been able to completely stay away, even while nursing his broken heart.  
  
He had made a few calls to some old friends, namely Heechul and Siwon. It had not been hard to get Jongwoon’s number. The only question now is ... is Jongwoon still willing to accept him?  
  
Because, no matter what, in some form or the other, Hangeng always keeps going back to Jongwoon, and he thinks he can never forgive himself if he does not at least try to win back Jongwoon’s friendship.   
  
If the man is still willing to have him.   
  
The phone rings once, twice, then –  
  
‘Hello?’   
  
The familiar husky voice washes over his ears and Hangeng feels nostalgia and a bliss he has never felt before.  
  
‘Jongwoon...’  
  
Jongwoon recognises his voice immediately. ‘Hangeng?’  
  
Hangeng holds his breath, feeling his heart beginning to pound. He waits with bated breath, waiting for the explosion, the anger, the curses –  
  
‘Oh damn, Hangeng!’ Jongwoon is almost crying over the line, and the sheer joy in his voice overwhelms the other. ‘Geng, Geng ... I’ve missed you.’  
  
Then Hangeng is laughing as well, foreseeing the long conversation, the apologies, the laughter, the love that is awaiting them. His phone bill is going to suck this month.  
  
‘I’ve missed you too, Jongwoon...’  


~***~  


_In the end, I found myself again. I found myself in you. Just as expected._  
  
_Because in the end, you were still the only one I always kept coming back to._  



End file.
